End of Monkey Summer

You’re 5 now, Monkey, which means a pretty big change for all of us. You won’t be around all day long, anymore. Day camps and whatnot aside, you’ve been a major presence — especially in Mommy’s life — since the moment you’d grown big enough that Mommy needed maternity clothes, and every day since then.

But it’s coming to an end. Your infancy, as it were, is nearly over. You’re about to go to kindergarten. You’re officially growing past us.

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A week without coffee

A week ago, I sat in one of our meeting rooms at the office, discussing the current state of one of our projects, when I felt the all-too-familiar and sickening sensation of a rush of fluid in my nose. The generous drop of blood hit my finger a moment later.

It took nearly 20 minutes for the bleeding to stop. It freaked me out a bit because I had no real reason as to why it had bled. By the time I got home, there was no indication whatsoever of any issue, either. But it was Alex who got me thinking. Her thought?

I’d been drinking way too much caffeine.

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Happy 5th Birthday, Monkey

Today was a big day, Monkey. A milestone — yet another of many to come. Another year has passed, but it’s an important one. You’re past infant, toddler, and now preschooler. You’re a real kid, now. You’re going to school — real school.

You’re not my “little” girl anymore. You’re a big girl now, really. (You’ll always be little, by the way. Just accept it and let’s move on, shall we?) I still find it hard to see you growing up, almost like you’re slowly getting away from me with every day.

I can’t believe you’re 5 already, Monkey.

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I hate you leave you in the morning, Part 2

Where once there was one,
Now there are two.
But the patterns remains the same.

Wakened by one, though with hugs from both.
We sit. We eat. We chat.
Stories, changing of clothes and preparing for the day.
Teeth brushed.
Please, just let Mommy sleep a little while longer.

“Daddy, you going work?”
“Yes, honey…”
“But I miss you!”

Prometheus brought fire to man
And endured the eagle every day.
My heart faces the same eternity of destruction and healing
For everyday that I must leave.

Hugs. A kiss. A moment of love.
It is a fleeting moment, like your innocence
Too soon gone.

It’s a lonely trek away from you
Each step an ache
A string strung too far
Desperate to break.

Days are long
Time is short
You grow up too fast

Suddenly, another year passes
What did I miss?
I miss you. Every day.

Always.

I hate to leave you in the morning.

How to be a Technical Writer

It’s surprising how often I’ve been asked this question over the last few months. Once upon a time — some dozen years ago — I was a technical writer. I wrote manuals, technical documentation, and various forms of other literature for a living. And, to be quite honest, I hated it.

Well, hate is a strong word. I got bored of doing it. (Long story, suffice to say, I ended up making websites for a living.) But certainly the skill has never left me (I still write documentation to this day as part of my job), and I do know a few things about writing clearly and effectively.

Sadly, it’s not something that is done particularly well…

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Bronze is still a medal

I had a debate with my neighbour the other day over the Olympics, and notably how Canadians are approaching our successes at the Games. I love having debates with my neighbour — he’s well-educated, open-minded, (loves beer), and is a pragmatist when it comes to opposing views (he explores ideas, rather than shooting them down).

He was perplexed that Canadians — media, especially, but also actual people — were jumping for joy at winning medals other than gold. The idea of not winning, but getting second or third, seemed utterly bizarre, let alone the jumping for joy we exhibit when we get a medal.

That was my point, though: it’s a medal. And yes, it’s worth celebrating.

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